


Winter and Rough Weather

by DoveFeatheredRaven



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BDSM, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Flogging, Gay Idiots in Love, Impact Play, Kink Negotiation, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking/belting, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), confession kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-06-30 08:51:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoveFeatheredRaven/pseuds/DoveFeatheredRaven
Summary: Crowley has certain... desires, and he feels nervous about broaching the subject with Aziraphale. What if he says no? What if he says yes? Oh, to indulge in carnal lusts with an angel...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first fic on AO3! Have some delicious smut. Remember to be safe, sane, and consensual in your kinky-lovemaking, my friends!

Outside the bookshop, thick, heavy flakes of snow whirled through the air, blanketing the streets of Soho. Crowley had planned to take Aziraphale to the cinema, but even he didn’t want to risk the Bentley driving in near white-out conditions. He stood just inside the front door, looking out, unable to see much past the sidewalk. 

“My dear boy,” came Aziraphale’s voice from the back of the shop, “you’re letting all the snow in. Close the door and come back here where it’s warm.” 

The blizzard had whipped up suddenly, sending the people of London scurrying back into their homes, and forcing the angel and the demon to retreat to the safety of Aziraphale’s cozy shop. Crowley knew there was no chance of going home to his flat tonight.  _ Lucky me,  _ he thought, shivering delightfully in the cold wind. He flipped the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’, not that it mattered much in this weather, and locked the door behind him. 

Aziraphale was laying on a plush couch in the back room, a knit blanket draped around his shoulders. As Crowley approached, the angel lifted a corner of the blanket invitingly. Crowley laid down between Aziraphale’s legs, back against his chest, and sighed contentedly at the feel of his lover’s strong arms wrapped around him, holding him close. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to see your show,” Aziraphale murmured. 

_ Oh, that. _ Crowley had already forgotten about it. “Me too. I mean, what else are we supposed to do on a midwinter’s evening, locked in your bookshop while a storm rages right outside the windows, completely alone with no possibility of interruption…?” 

Nuzzling Crowley’s neck, Aziraphale said, “We could read  _ The Taming of the Shrew _ .” 

“Angel. You are incorrigible.” Crowley twisted around, tilting up his chin to kiss Aziraphale. His lips brushed Crowley’s with scarcely more than a whisper of flesh. He would never tire of those kisses, soft and chaste like a promise made on a lazy summer afternoon. If he could, he would stay there forever, cuddled up in the warmth of his angel’s embrace, knowing the joy of belonging to each other. 

As Aziraphale pressed a soft mouth over the pulse in his neck, Crowley once again thought of something he desperately wanted to ask, but didn’t know how to begin. The idea had been bouncing around in his head for ages, since before they had gotten together properly, but… He worried about shaking things up. Worried that Aziraphale wouldn’t understand. 

Angels weren’t supposed to succumb to lust, and though he and Crowley made love often (and well) Crowley didn’t know how Aziraphale would feel about, well, the thing he wanted to ask. It was a big step, maybe too big for the slower moving angel. Maybe he would be disgusted by Crowley’s desires. Maybe he would remember that he was an angel and Crowley was a demon and decide that they couldn’t be together anymore.  _ Unlikely, _ Crowley told himself. 

“What’s wrong, love?” Aziraphale asked, kissing the top of his head. 

_ Well it’s now, or… another six thousand years from now.  _ “Zira? Um. There’s something I’ve been thinking about. And I wanted to ask you. Er.” A flush rose in his cheeks. 

“Yes?” 

“Urk.”

“What’s that?” 

Crowley sighed. “Well, do you ever have, you know... fantasies?” 

Aziraphale stilled, as if pondering. “I suppose I must do. I often find myself daydreaming about the next rare book I might find at a sale, or, do you know, sometimes I imagine myself as an actor with the RSC. It would really be splendid to play the Duke from  _ As You Like It _ ; it’s not the biggest role by any means, but he has the most exceptional monologue in Act II. It’s all a bit foolish, though, I realize.”

_ Not what I meant _ . But the thought of Az strutting about onstage in a period costume that was a faint mimicry of what they actually wore was rather endearing. He’d file that one away for future reference. 

“I was thinking more along the lines of, er. Bedroom stuff.” Crowley coughed. “Sexual fantasies. Involving me, I hope,” he clarified quickly. 

“Oh, huh.” 

Crowley was glad he was sitting with his back to Aziraphale, because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see his face.

Aziraphale continued, “I enjoy the things we do together, and-- hem-- sometimes I think about it when we’re apart, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Good. Right. Well.” For Someone’s sake, he was a demon, just spit it out. Temptation should be easy. “Do you ever think about doing new things? More adventurous things?”

“Adventurous? You mean, you want to go somewhere?” 

Letting his head fall back against Aziraphale’s shoulder, Crowley bit back another sigh. “No, that’s not… Okay, have you heard of  _ Fifty Shades of Grey?”  _

“I’m afraid I’m completely lost, my dear.” 

“It’s a book.”  _ Damn, I thought that would work.  _ Crowley racked his brain, trying to figure out how to say it without actually having to say it. If only he had telepathy. 

“Do you want me to find you this book? You know I always encourage reading, but I fail to see what it has to do with, erm, what we do in the bedroom.” 

“No, the book isn’t important. It’s about the… well, you know when two people are in love?” 

“Crowley, I promise you I am familiar with the basics of sex. But if you’ve forgotten, I’m more than willing to show you…” Aziraphale planted a trail of kisses along Crowley’s neck.

“Gah!”  _ Don’t get sidetracked.  _ “That sounds delightful, but I’m talking about, you know, more than the basics.” 

“Meaning…?” 

“Angel, I swear.” He sat upright and turned so he was finally facing Aziraphale. “Hang on…” The angel’s eyes glinted with a, dare he say,  _ devilish _ light. “Aziraphale, you bastard, you’ve been teasing me this whole time!” 

Laughing, Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s chin and drew him for another kiss. This time it was hot, deeper, and their lips pressed together with a new intensity. Darting out his tongue, Crowley tasted his lover and inhaled his delicious, comfortable scent, like old pages and the fresh bread he sometimes baked in his flat above the shop. Aziraphale took Crowley’s bottom lip between his teeth, and he gasped, opening up for the angel to devour. He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s back.

Then, Aziraphale dropped his hand from Crowley’s chin to encircle his throat. He squeezed with the lightest pressure, and Crowley melted against him. Swallowing yielded pleasurable results; as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down Crowley could feel the angel’s fingers flex around him. 

Before things got too heated, Aziraphale moved his hands down to Crowley’s elbows, and Crowley nuzzled into the crook of his neck. 

“Oh, Angel…” 

“Is that the kind of thing you’re talking about?” 

Crowley arched into Zira’s touch as he stroked his hair. “Yes. Er. How did you know?” 

“My dear. I’ve seen the way you writhe when I bite your neck. I’ve felt you melt beneath me when I pin your hands over your head. I figured you’d ask sooner or later and I wanted to give you time.” 

A shudder passed through Crowley at the memories of their lovemaking, Aziraphale’s firm weight pressing him into the bed, his big hands tight around Crowley’s wrists, rendering him immobile. He wanted that, and so much more. 

“So, you’re willing to try…? Er.” Crowley started.

“Say it, love.” 

He looked into Aziraphale’s eyes. “BDSM.” A thrilled smile turned up the corners of his lips. He’d said it, out loud, and Aziraphale was looking at him so intently, with his mouth open just slightly, like he was waiting for more.  _ BDSM.  _ The letters excited Crowley more than simple letters had any right to do.  _ Bondage. Discipline. Submission. Masochism.  _ That’s what they meant to Crowley, and  _ fuck _ , just thinking about what his angel might do to him was enough to get him hard. 

“Crowley, I don’t have a lot of experience with this,” Aziraphale said, running his thumb along Crowley’s jaw, “but I know the basics. We should discuss what we want beforehand, and figure out how to do it safely.” 

“Right.”  _ What do I want? _ Crowley pictured himself with his hands tied to the bedposts, blindfolded, Aziraphale kneeling behind him bringing a heavy flogger down on his back again and again… His mouth watered. 

“So…?” 

“Huh?” 

“You do actually have to tell me, Crowley. I can’t just guess.” 

“Oh, right.” Crowley didn’t know where to start. Suddenly, there were so many possibilities, so many things to try. He thought about all the toys that had caught his attention online, floggers and canes and riding crops, cuffs, gags, blindfolds, collars. He didn’t know all the proper terminology to explain what he wanted. 

“I want you to tie my hands to the bed. I want you to hit me, with your hands, or a flogger, or your belt, even. I want you to drape me over your knee and spank me, and throw me down on the bed and tease me until I’m begging for your cock. I want you to pull my hair and put your hands around my throat, but not to choke me, just so I know… you’re in charge.” 

Aziraphale steepled his fingers in front of his lips and said nothing. 

“Um. Zira?” 

“Oh, Crowley,” he said in a strangled voice. “Yes. God, yes to all of it. Baby, come here.” 

Grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, Aziraphale pulled Crowley on top of him. He threaded his fingers through his hair and brought their mouths crashing together. This time it wasn’t soft like a summer breeze, but scorching and painful like the sun in the desert. He bit Crowley’s lip until he whimpered, preventing him from moving away by a hand on the back of his neck, controlling him. Crowley thrust his hips against Aziraphale’s, enjoying the feel of their stiffening cocks through his trousers but wanting the raw heat of skin-to-skin contact. 

“Darling, can I call you names?” Aziraphale whispered against Crowley’s cheek.

“Like what?” He tried to sound innocent. Aziraphale didn’t look like he bought it.

“Demon slut,” he growled, digging his fingers into Crowley’s hips and rubbing against him. 

_ Holy fuck,  _ Crowley thought as those words sent a thrill coursing through him, like an electric charge that tightened his legs and made his cock ache. He realized Aziraphale expected an answer. “Yes! Say it again.” 

“You’re a dirty little slut, Crowley. Look at you, frotting against me like a wild animal.” 

He couldn’t decide if he wanted to get fucked  _ right now  _ or take a step back and explain the scene that had been forming in his mind. He braced himself against Aziraphale’s chest and sat up, straddling him. 

“Aziraphale? There’s something different I want to do.” 

“Yes, love? I mean. Harlot.” 

Crowley laughed, absolutely delighted and still somewhat in disbelief that the angel wanted this too. Az covered Crowley’s hands with his own and smiled up at him. Biting his lip with relish, he explained exactly how he wanted the rest of the night to go. 

Eyes slightly glazed, Az bucked his hips against Crowley. “Yes, yes my dear boy. Let’s do that.” 

They agreed to cool down for a second before jumping right in, to clear their heads and make sure neither of them went too fast or pushed each other’s brand new, somewhat undefined boundaries too far. Aziraphale put the kettle on in the kitchenette, and Crowley wandered over to the window to look at the storm. He took a deep breath. Outside, the snow was falling more gently now, and the streetlights provided a rosy orange glow. All sound was muffled. Crowley watched a car pass cautiously through the street in front of the shop, making the first tracks in the flawless cover of snow, quiet like a dream. 

In a minute, Aziraphale brought two mugs of tea and a blanket. He opened the front door and sat looking out into the night, and Crowley snuggled in by his side. The chill was nice; the serpent in Crowley sometimes needed help regulating his body temperature, and between the frosty air outside and the space heater that was Aziraphale’s body, he felt perfect. 

“You were brave, asking me for what you want,” Az murmured. 

“Eh, one of us would have got ‘round to it eventually.” 

“Well, if you’d left it to me… It might have taken a good deal longer.” He kissed the snake tattoo in front of Crowley’s ear. “Thank you.”

“Hey, do you think we should have a safe word?” 

Pausing for a brief moment, Aziraphale said, “Probably, but we can talk about it later. For tonight, just say stop, okay? I’ll take care of you.” 

Crowley downed the last swig of tea and grinned at Aziraphale. “Aren’t you glad we didn’t go to the cinema?” 

Shutting the door behind him once again, Crowley followed Az back into the store, his excitement growing with each step. His hands quivered almost imperceptibly. Putting their mugs in the sink seemed to take longer than it ever had before, until finally, they stood facing each other. 

Aziraphale smiled the kind of smile no angel should ever wear, and he stepped into Crowley’s space, bringing their mouths close together but not touching. He gripped Crowley’s chin to hold him steady, not that Crowley would dare move now, and hovered over his lips, so close that Crowley could feel the warmth, could smell the tea on his breath. He did the same thing to Crowley’s neck, skimming over the surface of his skin, barely touching, promising exquisite agony if only Crowley was patient. 

“Well, foul fiend? What say you?” 

Crowley gulped. “I’ve been bad, Aziraphale. I need to be punished.”  _ Woah _ . What a rush. 

The angel’s grip slid lower, tightening around his throat. “Hell-beast. I might choose to pardon you, but only if you confess your sins.” 

Crowley nodded as much as he was able. 

“Then go upstairs, undress, and sit on the bed with your back to the door. I’ll be with you when I’m ready.” 

When he was released, Crowley had to stop himself from skipping up the narrow staircase to Aziraphale’s flat over the bookshop. He tried to swing his hips like he usually did, but was so tense he came across more lurchy than suave. He didn’t look back, but he could feel Aziraphale’s gaze burning into him as he ascended. 

Actually, he was glad Az was waiting downstairs, because never in six thousand years had he struggled so much to take his clothes off. Excitement made him clumsy, and his long limbs kept getting in the way. Finally, he tossed his clothes in a pile in the corner and knelt on the bed as his angel had commanded. He stroked his half-hard cock, straining to hear the sound of footsteps. 

The doorknob rattled as it turned, and Crowley looked over his shoulder to watch Aziraphale.

“No. Eyes front,” the angel said in a dangerous voice. 

_ Oops. _ Crowley bit his lip. 

“You have come here to confess your sins and receive whatever punishment I deem fitting,” Zira continued. “You may only speak when I give you leave. Do you understand? Say yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“Very well. For me to be satisfied, you must perform three acts. First, you must express contrition for the sins you have committed, then you must confess what you have done to make such a stain upon your soul, and finally, you must make amends. Only then may your sins be forgiven. Begin.” 

“Bless me Angel, for I have sinned. It has been… six thousand years since my last confession.” He heard a muffled laugh from Aziraphale, who quickly coughed to cover it up. “I have engaged in carnal homosexual union with another man, an unmarried man, many times and enjoyed it. I have practiced magic on, oh, several thousand occasions, and consorted with demons most vile. And uh… I played the slot machines at the Ritz last week without you.” 

“God hears you, child, and may She give you pardon and peace. Now, you must perform an act of penance.” 

Crowley licked his lips, utterly turned on by the wrongness of the scene. An angel pardoning a demon, and invoking the Lord’s name while he sat with his cock out, hardening at the thought of what Aziraphale might do to him. He had told the angel several different things he wanted to try, but of course it was up to him to decide. 

“Hold your hands in front of you, like you’re praying,” Aziraphale ordered.

The mattress dipped under Aziraphale’s weight as he knelt behind Crowley, reaching his arms around him to bind his hands. He wrapped Crowley’s wrists together with a blue silk tie and knotted the ends. Then, placing a kiss on Crowley’s temple, he blindfolded him with some soft fabric which obscured his vision completely. 

“Scoot back to the edge of the bed, then lean forward on your elbows,” the angel said, stepping back off the bed. 

Crowley obeyed, heart pounding. With the blindfold on, his other senses were running at max, and he almost moaned as he heard Aziraphale unbuckling his belt. The leather rasped as it was pulled through the loops. 

“You will count out loud after every strike. I will decide when you are done. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Crowley said, breath shaking. 

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Angel?”

“No.” The sound of the belt hitting Aziraphale’s palm. Crowley flinched involuntarily. “Try again. Get it right this time.” 

“Yes-- yes sir!” He was practically panting with fear and anticipation. His cock felt hot and heavy between his legs. 

_ Smack! _ “Fuck!” Crowley shouted. There had been no warning, just the sting of the belt hitting the backs of his thighs. It was already so much worse and better than he’d imagined. His skin felt like it was burning, he wanted to turn away and protect himself, but he had no choice but to accept his punishment. 

“I can’t hear you counting,” Zira rumbled, patting Crowley’s arse cheek. 

He spat back, defiant, “One.” 

This time he heard the ruffle of Aziraphale’s clothing before the sting of the belt set him aflame once again. He buried his head in the bedsheets and bit down on the comforter to muffle his cries. “Two.” 

Crowley flinched again, but this time it was only a light touch from Aziraphale’s fingers, tracing the sore lines on his thighs that must be red, raised welts. The angel dug his thumbs in, and Crowley whimpered from the pain. 

“You do understand that you must be punished, don’t you?” Came Aziraphale’s voice, honey-sweet. “You did this to yourself. You’re a sinner, Anthony, and you deserve this. Please tell me you understand.” 

Crowley didn’t answer. Already, part of him wanted to give in, to tell Aziraphale anything he wanted him to say, but the other part refused to submit so easily. He wanted to fight, to push his angel and see how far he would go. Apparently he was taking too long to answer.

_ Smack! _ “Three,” Crowley said, legs shaking. 

“Anthony, you must repent. You have  _ six thousand years  _ of sin to make up for; we haven’t even scratched the surface.”

Heat coursed through Crowley’s loins as he thought about Aziraphale punishing him for another six thousand years. All the temptations he’d performed, every time he’d gone to Hell, every time he’d fucked Aziraphale, they were all worth at least a smack from a belt, right? They’d never be done. Crowley moaned, thighs throbbing, cock aching. 

“You see, little one, I don’t believe you are properly contrite.” 

_ Little one?  _ Crowley bristled, he was a demon, born from the cosmic chaos at the beginning of time. He’d witnessed the Earth’s creation. He’d hung the stars. He’d moved mountains for Hell, figuratively, and once, literally. He’d saved the world from the Apocalypse, for fuck’s sake. 

“Are you sorry for your sins?”

“No!” Crowley snarled. “I enjoyed them. I tempted an angel, and I’m  _ proud _ of it.” 

_ Smack! _ “Four!” 

Aziraphale leaned over Crowley, pressing the hard buttons of his waistcoat into Crowley’s sore bottom. He grabbed him by the hair and twisted his head around so he could whisper in his ear. “You vile creature. You snake in the grass. You have already confessed your sins, now I’m giving you the chance to repent.”

“No!”

_ Smack! _ “Five,” he said, sobbing. The pain in his thighs was intense, and his head hurt where Az had wrenched his hair. 

Another blow came before he had a chance to recover. “Six.” His eyes overflowed with tears, making the blindfold damp.  _ It hurts so much. _

Suddenly, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Aziraphale sat on the bed next to him. “Little one, I’m giving you a way out. Just say you’re sorry. Say you won’t do it again, and this can be all over.” 

Gulping, Crowley seriously considered it. He didn’t know how much more he could take. But more than that, he didn’t know how long Az would keep going. Who would give out first? If curiosity was a sin, it was another one of many that he would be punished for. 

Aziraphale stroked his hair, and kissed his shoulder. Crowley knew he could end it now, and fall into his angel’s arms and make love until they were both spent. But he knew-- and Aziraphale knew-- that he would never take the easy way out. 

“I’m not sorry. I  _ lusted _ after an angel, and sinned so many times I lost count, and I won’t apologize.” 

The comforting hand disappeared, and so did Zira’s weight on the bed. 

“Reprehensible demon!” He smacked the belt into his hand again. Crowley flinched and his breath quickened.

A rustle of clothing, the sharp slap of leather hitting flesh. Crowley cried out with renewed sobs. “Seven!” 

“Eight!” The feel of the hits was changing. Aziraphale didn’t give him time to recover, so the heat and sting remained a constant background noise. When the next hit came, he wanted it, he leaned into it like a sweet caress. 

“Nine! Oh, fuck, Aziraphale!” Adrenaline and endorphins were kicking in; every nerve ending was alight. 

“Ten!” The vibrations from the hit felt like they were spreading through his whole body, darting toward his center, stimulating the sensitive nerves in his anus. He needed Aziraphale to fuck him now; he couldn’t hold out any longer. 

“Do you repent?” The angel smacked the belt against the bed. 

Crowley gasped for breath. Could he take one more? He was so close. 

“Answer me!”

“No!” He half-laughed, half-sobbed in anticipation. 

_ Smack!  _ “Eleven! Okay, I’m sorry Angel! I’m sorry, sir!”

“Say it right!” Aziraphale roared.

Crowley shuddered, skin singing, legs tight. “O God, I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past life.”

He heard the belt thud to the floor, and Aziraphale grabbed him under the hips and hauled him backward so he was standing on the floor, bent over the bed. “Oh, Anthony,” he breathed, voice catching. He didn’t waste any time. With the click of a bottle cap, he poured lube into his palm and slicked up Crowley’s hole.

Stars erupted across the back of the blindfold as Aziraphale teased Crowley’s neglected arse hole, dragging a wet finger up and down, slipping his other hand in front of Crowley to tug at his cock. He was on fire from the pain, and his whole body ached to be touched, to be soothed. 

“Fuck me, Zira!” he cried out, mad with need. 

Those warm hands vanished, and then came the sound of Aziraphale’s zipper, and Crowley sank his teeth into the bed sheets as the angel slid his thick cock, dripping with lube, inside him. He thrust into Crowley as far as he could go and pulled out slowly, teasing him with every inch. 

“Angel, please, I’m so fucking close,” Crowley whimpered, knowing he couldn’t cum until Az said so. 

Reaching around to stroke his cock, Aziraphale said, “You’ve been so good, dear. Go ahead, when you’re ready.” 

One hand dug into Crowley’s hip, while the other stayed on his cock, pumping him in rhythm with his thrusts. Crowley moaned helplessly, unable to move, unable to think about anything other than the  _ wicked  _ things his angel was doing to him. He was so keyed up it didn’t take long to send him over the edge. With a muffled groan, Crowley reached his orgasm, cum dripping through Aziraphale’s fingers. Aziraphale came moments later, hips convulsing against Crowley’s arse. It was only the angel’s weight pinning him to the bed that kept him from sliding bonelessly onto the floor. 

After a moment, Aziraphale pulled out and miracled them both clean, and removed the tie and blindfold. With more coordination than Crowley had shown earlier, Aziraphale shucked his clothes, folding them neatly and setting them on top of his armoire. They flopped into bed together, naked limbs entangled. Crowley tucked his face into the base of Zira’s throat, and with a fair amount of wiggling, Aziraphale managed to wrap a blanket around them.

“Was it everything you hoped for, love?” he asked, stroking Crowley’s back. 

“Oh, Aziraphale. I never imagined it could be that good.”

In the still, quiet air, Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s heartbeat through his chest, strong and steady. He felt so safe and loved in his arms. Nothing, not the hosts of Heaven nor hordes of Hell, could break them apart. 

Tilting his head back to watch Aziraphale’s face, he asked, “So, have you really not heard of  _ Fifty Shades of Grey _ ?” 

“Yes, I daresay I have more than heard of it,” Aziraphale said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled, just the way Crowley liked. “But, I think there is better erotic material out there. Perhaps I can find us something we can read together.” 

Exhausted, the angel and the demon soon fell asleep, while the snow continued to fall gently in the night, pooling in all the inky dark corners of the city. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale continue to explore the kinky side of their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm from the US, but I've tried to use British spellings and terminology throughout. If I've butchered any slang or missed anything, feel free to let me know! Anyway, I hope you enjoy the new chapter. The plan is to write at least one more chapter because I want to write from Aziraphale's perspective, but after that, I don't know yet. I'm actually working on another Good Omens fic at the same time, so keep an eye out for my slow-burn ineffable husbands adventure coming soon!

A dreary wind howled through the city, blowing the sleeting rain nearly sideways. As the sun went down, the temperature would drop and the rain would turn to ice, slicking the roads, casting dirty mounds of old snowfall in a glacial lacquer. Crowley was glad he had made it back from Hell before nightfall, though he almost preferred the sulfuric heat to this bitter cold. 

After the prevention of Armageddon, Crowley had been undesirable number one, and walking through the Gates had felt like walking blindfolded through a minefield. However, a little while back, he’d let slip that he had tempted an angel into his bed, a Principality, at that, and even his superiors had looked impressed. So, though he was still expected to perform temptations and check in occasionally, at least he was off Hell’s hit list. 

Aziraphale was waiting in Crowley’s apartment when he got home; the angel was always more nervous when Crowley had to go downstairs than Crowley was. A mouth-watering aroma wafted from the kitchen, and, kicking off his boots, Crowley went to see what Aziraphale had whipped up this time. 

There was chicken cooking with tomatoes and some other veg in a cast iron pan, but Crowley gave it only a cursory glance. He only had eyes for Aziraphale, who had his back to the room, scrubbing dishes in the sink. 

“You don’t have to do that by hand, you know.” Crowley came up behind Aziraphale, wrapping him in a hug.

Aziraphale leaned back against Crowley’s chest. “I find it meditative. How was Hell?” 

“Eh, overbearing, as usual. Hastur’s mellowed a bit ever since we found Ligur, and now they’re very nearly decent to talk to.”

“What happened with that whole situation, by the way? I always meant to ask.”

“Ligur? Yeah, I guess it turns out holy water doesn’t kill us, it just sort of evaporates us. Painfully. He was pissed when he came back.”

“Yes, well…” Aziraphale had an air of one who was trying very hard not to say  _ I told you so _ . 

Crowley rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You smell nice.” 

“It’s the cooking, dear.” 

Gently, Crowley nudged him out of the way and finished up the washing while Aziraphale tended to the stove. They ate dinner--deliciously tender chicken, perfectly caramelized onions, juicy cherry tomatoes--on Crowley’s little kitchen table and complained about the weather and commiserated about Shadwell. The old grouch had been calling both of them regularly, asking if they’d sighted any demons or detected any whiffs of arcane magic that he could set his army to investigate. Apparently, he was under the impression that he had saved the world single-handedly, but neither Crowley nor Aziraphale was sure if he actually remembered the events of the null Apocalypse. 

After, they cleaned up and each carried a glass of wine out to the sitting room, where they put on a film that they most certainly wouldn’t be watching. Aziraphale’s wine-sweet, lazy kisses were much more interesting, anyway. 

“Crowley, the other day, you mentioned certain...  _ implements _ that you might want to use in the future.” 

“Mhmm?” Crowley murmured, dipping his fingers below Aziraphale’s shirt collar. 

“Well, I was wondering what specifically you wanted. If I remember, you talked about floggers…” 

“Floggers, huh. You mean, you want to tie me up and hit me with braided leather cords that smack against my skin, raising deep dark bruises until I’m sobbing and pleading for you to fuck me…? Is that what you want, Angel?” 

Aziraphale’s voice was weak. “Something like that, yes.” He brushed Crowley’s lips with his thumb. “Do you have your mobile? We can look at them online.” 

He opened up his phone and typed ‘floggers’ into Google, and they looked at the hundreds of varieties available. There were exquisite ones with soft, colourful falls and handles wrapped in ribbon, low intensity ones made of rabbit fur or deerskin, and brutal-looking weapons of hard leather braids or even chains. Crowley gulped. Maybe they could work up to that one. 

“What about one like this?” Aziraphale pointed to a purple suede number with wide, soft tails. 

“I don’t know if that will be enough for me,” Crowley said, reading the description. It looked sort of like a furniture duster. 

Next, Aziraphale clicked on a braided leather cat-o-nine-tails, and then another leather one with a carved wood handle which was advertised as perfectly balanced. They were all rather gorgeous and it was thrilling to be shopping for something so wicked with his angel. 

One in particular caught Crowley’s attention. “Look here. Elk leather, made for beginners but not too soft. On the thuddy side.” 

“Is this the one?” Aziraphale asked. His eyes glittered, and Crowley kissed him on the cheek. 

“Yeah. Let’s order it.” 

“Wait, we have to…? Don’t you think we can, I don’t know, miracle it?” 

Crowley frowned. “Eh, you don’t really want that on your receipts do you? Besides, I don’t want Hell to know I like getting punished. They might get ideas.” 

“Ah, well, I suppose you’re right. Long way it is, then.” 

Pulling out his wallet, Crowley typed in his card info and shipping address, and if Aziraphale noticed how much extra he forked over for faster shipping, he didn’t have anything to say about it. He dropped his mobile and wallet on the coffee table and pulled Aziraphale in close. 

“Now I don’t want to wait,” Crowley whispered, nibbling on Aziraphale’s ear. The angel turned his head and pressed his lips to Crowley’s, gently probing with his tongue. The steady pressure of his mouth stoked a heat deep within Crowley, like kindled embers, and he sighed into his touch. 

“My dear, we don’t need to sit idly by while our new toy is in the post… Why don’t I show you what I can do with just my hands?” 

Excitement growing in him, Crowley followed Aziraphale as they dashed into the bedroom. In the background, the film played on without an audience. 

\---

Crowley pulled up outside A. Z. Fell & Co. and swung himself out of the car, nearly slipping on the ice in his haste. Cardboard box stuffed securely under his arm, he entered the warmth of the shop and stood a moment to let his eyes adjust to the reduced light. There were more patrons than usual scattered throughout the shop, and Crowley frowned before realizing he shouldn’t be surprised; the winter holidays were coming up. Perhaps Aziraphale would even deign to let a book go this season. 

Speaking of, Crowley spotted the angel behind the front counter, selling a sketchbook and a pack of drawing pencils. Aziraphale wrapped them in tissue paper and stuck a bow on top before waving the customer on their way with a ‘good day and happy holidays’. 

“So that’s how you make your money, eh, Mr. Fell?” Crowley asked, coming to lean on the opposite side of the counter from Aziraphale. “Not in rare manuscripts, but overpriced odds and ends?” 

“My merchandise is perfectly reasonably priced, I assure you.” He wiped imaginary dust off the till, glowering at Crowley. 

Crowley plopped the box on the countertop and waited to see Aziraphale’s reaction. It took a moment, but then comprehension dawned and he broke into a shy smile, eyes flicking from Crowley to the box. “Is this…?” 

“Uh huh.” He rested his elbows on the counter, trying to look dignified rather than giddy. 

“Well, let’s go see it then!” 

Snatching up the box, Crowley wove through the store to the back room, angel at his side. And if patrons got annoyed and left while the proprietor was thusly occupied, Crowley was certain it would be no loss. They fumbled with tape and cardboard until finally they got the box open and unwrapped the flogger from its protective bubble wrap casing. It was longer than Crowley had expected, and heftier. The smell was rich, new leather, heady and intoxicating. He ran his fingers through the falls, which were deep, chocolatey brown in colour and felt supple and velvety. The handle was patterned in black and light brown chevrons, and felt good in Crowley’s hand. Though, he wouldn’t be the one using it. 

He passed it to Aziraphale and watched him make the same inspection, feeling the texture of the leather and testing the balance. He trailed it along his forearms and Crowley shivered at the sight, already eager to feel it against his own skin. It was a gorgeous instrument in its own right, but he needed to feel it in action, to hear the thud of the falls as they hit his shoulders, to drink in Aziraphale’s grunts of exertion as he swung the flogger with everything he had. 

Hovering behind Aziraphale and running his hands along his shoulders, Crowley said, “So, Angel, what will you be doing tonight?” 

“Oh, I’ll be working late, I expect.” He leaned into Crowley. “I’m expecting a shipment later this afternoon of stock I ordered for the holiday crowd. Should set it out as soon as possible. Though, I do sometimes lament that trinkets seem to be more popular than books these days.” 

“Uh huh. And what was the last book you sold?” 

“It was called  _ The Christmas Apricot _ , and I just sold it today, actually.” 

Crowley scoffed. “A commercial paperback? It hardly becomes you, Mr. Fell. Where’re your first edition Dickens, your vintage Hanukkah poetry collections?” 

“Those,” Aziraphale said, agitated, “are on my shelf upstairs, and can be viewed upon request.” 

Privately, Crowley wondered how anyone could possibly know to request them when Aziraphale kept his inventory list locked up tight. He kissed the corner of his jaw, the side of his neck, before propping his chin on the angel’s shoulder. 

“What about after work?” 

“Well, I’ll probably be knackered by then. Might make myself a cup of tea, have a bath…” 

“Hrmmm,” Crowley growled, and Aziraphale laughed.

“Darling, I know you’re eager, but we’re not using it tonight. I have to practice first so I don’t hurt you.”

“Thought that was the point.” 

“Hurt you in the not-fun way, I mean.” Aziraphale wiggled around so they were facing each other and stroked Crowley’s cheek with the back of his hand. “It can be dangerous, you know.” 

“Really?” 

“Mhmm. Might make you all red and sore.” He planted a kiss on Crowley’s lips. “Might leave bruises.” 

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by the hips and drew him in, murmuring, “Sounds perfect.” 

Just then, a bell rang from the front of the shop, and Crowley growled in frustration. They put the flogger back in the box, safely wrapped up, and Aziraphale readjusted his clothes. “You know, if you want to stay here, you can help me stock when my order comes in.” 

Briefly, Crowley considered. Stick price tags on endless little decorative boxes, arrange knick-knacks in festive displays? “Nah. I’ll come back later with dinner though.” 

“I’ll look forward to it. Run this upstairs for me before you go, will you?” Aziraphale asked, handing Crowley the cardboard box. 

While Aziraphale went to tend to his customers, Crowley put the flogger in the bedroom. He blew the angel a kiss on his way out into the crisp winter air, hating to wait, but loving the anticipation. Oh, why did Aziraphale have to be a responsible top? 

\---

It was a few days before Aziraphale was ready to use the flogger on Crowley, who found himself increasingly wound up every time he tucked into bed next to the angel and saw it sitting as tempting as anything on the chest of drawers. One evening, Crowley was at the grocer’s hiding rubber snakes behind the lettuces when Aziraphale called and said to meet him back at Crowley’s flat. He drove home in the growing twilight and spotted Aziraphale sitting in the lobby, holding a backpack in his lap. It had a blue and yellow gingham pattern, which Crowley considered even more revolting than tartan. 

“Angel,” he greeted him, offering a hand. Crowley kissed his knuckles, and they went up the lift together. 

It was a long ride, with an awkward silence in the lift. Crowley glanced sideways at Aziraphale, who stared straight ahead, looking infuriatingly smug. 

Belly knotting, Crowley didn’t quite know what to do with his hands as he and Aziraphale walked into his flat. After days of waiting for it, he now felt nervous. Did they just start? Was there some ritual they needed to do first? He hoped--trusted--that Aziraphale knew what he was doing, and one look into those calm and confident eyes helped him relax. 

Aziraphale dropped his bag on the floor and threw his arms around Crowley’s shoulders, resting their foreheads together. “Are you excited, dear?” He pet Crowley’s hair.

“Yes.”

“Are you afraid?” 

“...Yes.” 

Squeezing the back of Crowley’s neck, Aziraphale whispered in a low, dark voice, “You have no idea what’s about to happen to you, do you?” 

A shiver trembled up Crowley’s spine. He loved when his angel got all deep and dangerous. Like a cold wind blowing over him, Crowley was suddenly reminded of Aziraphale’s strength, the grip in his manicured hands, the iron curve of bicep under a layer of soft flesh, the angelic grace that ever simmered beneath the surface. He was a bouquet of fair roses that hid treacherous thorns beneath, and Crowley wanted to shove in his hands and let them prick his skin. 

“I think I can take it,” Crowley said, almost hoping that he was wrong. 

Aziraphale gave him his most condescending smirk. “We shall see about that. Now, go to your room, undress, and wait by the bed for me. Put some music on, why don’t you.” He patted Crowley on the arse and clicked his teeth before releasing him. 

Delighted, Crowley hurried to do as he was told. Sunglasses went on the table. Clothes he hucked into the corner next to the basket, knowing it would annoy Aziraphale, and thought about his last request. What kind of music goes with a beating? Not something loud and distracting, certainly. Just something for the background… With a snap of his fingers, Crowley turned on his clock radio, which was miraculously tuned to the type of music he wanted and which would also be advert-free for the next hour or two. He laid on the bed, wondering if Aziraphale would keep him waiting long. Idly, he imagined Aziraphale practicing with the flogger, hitting pillows over and over until he could make a satisfying thud in exactly the right place. He had refused to let Crowley watch, no matter how much he’d whined and begged. Crowley appreciated the secrecy, impressed at Aziraphale’s ability to make him fear and crave all at once. 

He recalled the feel of the leather falls in his hands, how supple and weighty they were. How would they feel as they bit into his skin? 

Finally, Aziraphale came in, and Crowley gazed at him in wonder. He’d changed out of his usual cream and tan outfit into a black suit with a silk shirt red as currant wine, open at the neck, showing a hint of dark hair on his chest. His feet were clad in black leather lace-up boots and his footsteps fell heavy on the hard floor. Aziraphale didn’t often wear dark colours but  _ damn _ he pulled it off, looking as sinful as if he were the devil coming to seduce the innocent angel Crowley. In a holster attached to his belt loop sat the flogger, falls trailing, and in one hand he held a pair of leather cuffs. 

“Anthony, dear, come stand in front of me.” 

Crowley couldn’t take his eyes off him. He was stunning, formidable, like a dark sun. He stood before the angel, feeling woefully exposed in his nakedness, stripped of even the mental armour of his proper name. 

“Face forward,” he said softly, and the quiet in his voice scared Crowley more than if he had come in yelling. Like a shark, Aziraphale circled him. Crowley could feel the weight of his gaze, the pressure of Aziraphale asserting his right to look upon his defenceless form without giving Crowley the pleasure in return. 

“Do you need to be restrained?” 

A rhetorical question? Crowley had already seen the cuffs, and he wanted to feel them close about his wrists. 

“No,” Crowley said, just to see what would happen. 

Gently, Aziraphale touched the flogger to his back, letting the thick, soft falls trail down his spine. He brushed it up and down, and swatted lightly against his shoulders. Then without warning, he gave Crowley an open-handed smack on the arse. He couldn’t help flinching away. 

“I thought so. Put your hands together on the footboard.” 

The iron footboard, an antique, was not much more than a wire frame with spindles, which Crowley had certainly not chosen for this purpose but he was glad of it now. That’s probably why they were in his rather than Aziraphale’s bedroom, he realized, as Aziraphale slipped the buttery soft cuffs over his wrists--looping the chain around one of the upright spindles and over the top of the footboard--and cinching them snug. Crowley tested them, of course. Firm. The chain was short, so he couldn’t move his hands much at all. Soft, so he could tug as hard as he wanted and it wouldn’t cut into his skin. 

The footboard was tall enough for him to stand upright without bending, and he planted his feet firmly. 

“Is this the ‘Trout Quintet’?” Aziraphale asked, running his hands from Crowley’s shoulders all the way down to his ankles. 

Elegant piano and expressive violin traded off the melody in the background music Crowley had stopped listening to the minute Aziraphale had stepped into the room. For a moment, he let the music wash over him, and his skin soared like the violin as Zira caressed him. Fingers stroked upward from belly to throat and Aziraphale tilted Crowley’s head back to rest on his shoulder. He could feel the fine material of his clothes, cool against his back. All the different textures were scintillating, the warmth and pressure of Aziraphale’s hands, the slippery silk of his shirt, the rougher feel of his jacket and trousers--cashmere? Crowley would have to feel it under his fingertips to be sure. 

Kissing his neck, Aziraphale murmured, in a conversational tone, “I’m going to hurt you, you know.” 

With a shudder, Crowley’s fingers clenched around the rail. What should he say?  _ Yes, please, and do hurry, will you? _ Fingers tightened around Crowley’s jaw, turning his head aside so Aziraphale could bite his neck. 

“Oh, yes,” Crowley said. Those bites, to the softest part of him where his blood ran so close to the surface, made him weak and turned him on like nothing else, as if there was a nerve running from his neck straight to his cock. It unravelled him. Swaying like a whore, he rubbed his arse against the front of Aziraphale’s trousers, and felt his hard length press into him. The velvety falls of the flogger brushed the side of his leg. 

“Do you want me to fuck you, demon? Do you want me to make you come?” Aziraphale alternated between kissing and nipping, and brought both hands down to hold Crowley’s hips still, controlling their rhythm. 

“Yes, yes!” 

Behind him, Aziraphale stilled. “Hmm. No, not just yet. I don’t think you deserve it. Do you?” 

“Uh, yes?” Was there a correct answer? Anything to make Aziraphale keep touching him. 

That earned him another swat on the arse. “You’re such a little slut, Anthony. Lust is a sin, you know, and look at you, begging for my cock. You filthy, wanton, harlot.” 

Every explicit word sent heat flaming through to his groin. They had barely begun, and Crowley was already alight with desire. 

“Ten will do the trick, I think,” Aziraphale continued. “I’ll give you a little taste, first, how’s that sound?” He reached around to stroke Crowley’s cock. “I’ll build you up ‘til you’re shrieking and then bring you down and stuff you with my cock so you fall apart in my arms, but not yet. First I’m going to flog you raw, and it won’t be pleasant. Stand up straight.” 

Suddenly, Aziraphale stepped back and Crowley missed the comfort of his warmth. The flogger hit his upper back, and he flinched, more from surprise than pain. It felt good. The leather was so smooth and yielding, it was a delight on his skin. Aziraphale hit him again, harder this time, but still not crossing the threshold into pain. Sighing, Crowley closed his eyes and let himself relax.

Aziraphale swung the flogger in a rhythm of soft thuds, slowly increasing in intensity until Crowley’s skin was alive and sensitive. He cried out at a particularly harsh hit, and behind him, Aziraphale laughed. 

“Baby, we haven’t even started.” 

The next blow hurt like a lash, and the next sent an arc of pain through Crowley. As Aziraphale swung faster and harder, those supple leather tails seemed to stiffen as they hit their mark, thudding against his flesh with a meaty sound. Had he thought this would feel good? Crowley squirmed, wanting to dodge out of the way and let his skin cool down from the harsh throbbing but he couldn’t move, the handcuffs which had earlier seemed so friendly and soft now held him still, at Aziraphale’s mercy. It  _ hurt,  _ more than Aziraphale’s hands, very different from the belt. The pain was deep and dull, intense and unrelenting. 

He heard yelping, and realized it was his own voice. Try as he might, he couldn’t steady his breathing. He flinched with every hit; the pain seemed to radiate into him as if the falls were rending flesh and punching through to his bones. It was torture. It was exquisite. As the endorphins kicked in, the sensation changed, becoming a low burn like the tightness after a workout, and Crowley moaned and arched his back into every forceful blow. He wanted it more than anything, like a deep, intimate massage, it made him feel boneless and euphoric. 

As if from a distance, he heard Aziraphale talking to him. The intensity turned down a notch, frequency lessening, and Crowley took the chance to breathe. “Are you with me, darling? Pay attention. The next ones are going to hurt. You will count out loud, and say thank you after each one, do you understand?” 

“Yes,” he managed to say, though his voice sounded broken. Aziraphale paused with the flogger and ran the backs of his nails down Crowley’s back. His skin was singing, and the angel’s nails felt like knife points. 

He heard the thunk of Aziraphale’s boots as he took another step back. Then a step and  _ crack _ and the thick sound of leather on flesh and Crowley screamed from the pain and melted into the pleasure. 

“One! Oh, fuck it hurts, Aziraphale,  _ thank you _ !” 

His body ached, a dull throb that seemed to start from the inside and burst outward onto his burning skin, and though Aziraphale let him rest for a moment, he gained no respite. Was that his voice sobbing?

But as he continued counting, he began to feel soothed and focused, as if his flesh and the stinging air and the unforgiving leather were the only things in the world. He felt the flex of every muscle in his body, from his aching shoulders, trembling with pain, to his hands, which, white-knuckled, gripped the footboard and anchored him to the Earth, to his feet, stretched on tiptoe to rock him back into every blow. Wetness beaded at the tip of his cock. He felt impossibly hard and tight.

Without realizing it, he hit ten, and he was almost disappointed. He panted, quivering, feeling like he might fall apart if he moved. 

Aziraphale kissed the back of his neck, running his hands along his shoulders, gently pressing his palms into Crowley’s agonized upper back. It was strange; his skin cried out more from the sudden lack of sensation than it did from the merciless flogging, having been acclimated to the intense pain, he now sagged into the emptiness. He was grateful for Aziraphale’s hands touching, caressing, holding him together. 

A new sensation, then. Aziraphale was dragging something impossibly soft over his bruised skin. It soothed and cooled him, and, curious, Crowley looked around to see what it was. 

“Oh, my Angel,” he whispered. Aziraphale had manifested his wings and was stroking Crowley’s back with his primary feathers. He was beautiful; those huge white wings contrasted with his black suit made both colours purer. The red splash of his shirt was startling against his throat, and Crowley longed to kiss the V of exposed chest. Forgetting himself, he tried to move and found his hands trapped in place by the cuffs. 

“Please,” he said. He didn’t need any more words than that; Aziraphale released his hands with a snap and caught him around the shoulders as he stumbled. Arms and wings enveloped him, and Crowley kissed Aziraphale as hard and passionately as he could. The angel’s teeth were sharp against his lips and Crowley gasped, hardly noticing when Aziraphale picked him up and carried him the few short steps into bed. 

Kneeling over Crowley, who lay on his back with his legs spread, Aziraphale undid his zipper and tugged at his cock. Then, he was on top of Crowley, kissing his jaw, dragging fingers down his chest and down further, stroking both their cocks together, and Crowley bucked into the hot circle of his hand. 

“Do I deserve--oh!” He cried out as the angel bit his neck. “Do I deserve to get fucked now, Aziraphale?” 

Without a word, Aziraphale sat back and lined himself up with Crowley’s hole, cock miraculously dripping with lube. He was rough, burying himself in Crowley as far as he could go with one thrust, and pulling back out too slowly. He looked  _ heavenly _ , with his half-spread wings and eyes dark with lust. Crowley liked that he was naked and Aziraphale was clothed; he liked the textures, he liked the feeling of vulnerability. 

Aziraphale fucked his arse into the bed, and the bedsheets scratched at his sore back, and he writhed and shoved his hips into Aziraphale’s thrusts, wanting more. Every nerve felt alight. The warmth, the pressure of the angel’s cock sliding into him sent shocks of intense pleasure throughout his body, and he threw his head back against the pillow as he came with a helpless groan. Aziraphale continued to fuck Crowley, slamming into him until he too reached his peak and stilled, panting, clutching Crowley’s legs as if to hold himself up. 

“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale kissed Crowley and rolled off him, settling onto the bed. He lay on his side, wings held out from his body and feathers lifted. 

Coming back down from the heights of pleasure and pain, Crowley fed his longing and touched the angel’s clothing. What gorgeous, luxurious fabric it was! The silk was as cool and slippery under his fingers as he’d imagined, the black jacket was soft and Crowley imagined it must feel wonderful to wear. He’d been right; it was cashmere. 

“You look absolutely radiant, Aziraphale.” 

When he looked up at Crowley with a shy little smile, Crowley’s heart almost melted. How could he be so confident and formidable at one time and then so endearingly demure the next? 

“Well, I’m glad you like it, but I am boiling in this.” He stood up and stripped down to his pants, unlacing his boots and setting them neatly in the corner. The clothes he hung on one of Crowley’s hangers.  _ Always so fastidious. _

With a spark of magic he opened the window to let the cool winter air breeze in, before once again sagging into bed next to Crowley. Aziraphale’s chest hair was matted with sweat, and Crowley couldn’t help touching. It was nothing short of erotic, the thought that he’d laboured so hard in beating Crowley, working himself so perspiration dripped down his body. He was perfect. 

“Turn over, dear,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley obeyed. The angel touched his back, testing out all the sore places with a delicate touch, making Crowley shiver. “So pretty.” 

Crowley wanted to see the marks, the blotchy redness that would darken into bruises in the next few days, the carnal imprints that marked him as Aziraphale’s. But he could look later. For now, he pressed himself into the curve of Aziraphale’s body, feeling sexier and safer than a demon had any right to be. 


End file.
